Page 51 of Surprise Baby for the Mafia Boss

Em

I reread the words on the page over and over.

I’m no writer, and I've actually never given a guy a love letter. I’m not sure about giving Luca this letter, because as hard as I try, I just can’t explain to him how I feel about him.

I never intended to get so entangled in these emotions. That’s never been my style.

I fold up the note and put it in my bag, getting back into bed. I start doing breathing exercises to try and fall asleep faster.

***

In the morning, we’re forced to attend breakfast again and Luca is the perfect gentleman. He holds my waist walking into the room, moves my chair for me, and helps to fill up my mimosa glass when he sees it’s empty. The last act, though, is simply so that he can pour the alcohol out and fill it with orange juice without anyone else seeing.

I woke up two hours before him, and sat out on the balcony attempting to lose myself in a book until I heard him get up. We haven’t spoken a word to each other, getting ready in complete silence, and only breaking that when we reached Carlos’ family. I don’t even know what I would say to him if he tried talking to me.

The chatter at the table is light and easy, so I assume that things went well last night with the money transfer. Luca looks confident in this room of his business partners, and I find myself unable to stop admiring him.

I am thankful when breakfast is over, though, because it’s one step closer to finally being home.

The drive to the airstrip stretches out in tense silence, the air heavy with unspoken words. Luca remains engrossed in his phone. He’s been texting all morning, and I assume it’s with his guys on the ground.

Once we’re on the plane, the quiet continues, so I dive back into my trashy romance novel while Luca opens his laptop and types, almost furiously.

He seems so angry for someone who is about to be making a shitload of money thanks to all of the hard work he’s put in.

Is all of that anger because of me? I’m actually not sure if he’s really working or just avoiding interacting with me. The distance between us feels palpable, and his avoidance of eye contact intensifies the sense of disconnection.

A thought crosses my mind. Was Luca too drunk last night to recall the events of it this morning? Yet, the way he’s acting suggests otherwise. If he is simply grappling with a foggy memory, he wouldn't be avoiding eye contact so deliberately.

As the pilot's voice interrupts the silence, announcing our landing, panic sets in. Fumbling through my bag, my fingers find the crinkled envelope containing the letter I've written for Luca.

It's a lifeline, a last-ditch effort to bridge the emotional gap between us. I decide I'm going to give it to him, consequences be damned. If he crumples it up and tosses it aside, so be it. If he reads it and chooses to ignore the sentiments, I can live with that too.

But in that hopeful space between uncertainty and possibility, I cling to the idea that my words might find a crack in the walls he's erected around himself.

As the plane descends, my heart races with anticipation. The letter, though just a piece of paper, holds the weight of unspoken emotions and the potential for a much-needed conversation.

Whether it serves as a catalyst for understanding or gets lost in the noise, I'm ready to face whatever comes next in the hope of unraveling the tangled threads of our strained connection.

Stepping out of the plane, I hand him the letter. He looks down at the paper and then at me. I see his mouth open as if he’s about to say something, and then-

“Sir,” his driver says as he meets us at the bottom of the stairs. “We have two cars, as you requested.”

Two cars. I’m not really surprised. Luca signals the second driver to take me home, giving out my address without uttering a single word to me.

Clutching the letter I've given him, he carefully avoids meeting my gaze, and walks towards his own car, leaving me standing with a driver I’ve never met before.

With a resigned sigh, I decide not to press him. I've learned enough about Luca to know when he needs space, and right now seems to be one of those times.

I head towards the waiting car. I ask the driver to turn the radio on as we leave the airstrip and I awkwardly lie my head on the window, closing my eyes. Maybe a little downtime is just what I need too.

I've been so wrapped up in looking after the Baldinis, helping Luca navigate the Mexican deal, and being the go-to for everyone else's needs.

As the car rolls along, the radio fills the space with music that I don’t even like, but I let the rhythmic hum soothe my frayed nerves. Eyes closed, I start to feel the weight of exhaustion sinking in.

It hits me—no one's bothered to check in on how I'm doing or if I need anything. The exhaustion is catching up, and I can feel it taking a toll on me.

This last trip to Mexico was a lot more than my pregnant body could handle, in more ways than one. I’m barely showing, but I can already feel the emotional changes happening, and my body feels almost foreign at times.

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